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A cold wind rushes up, wet and smelling of mildew, as if the canyon itself breathes. Unach doesn’t mind, so I try not to. I’m slow to follow her. I’m suitably strong, but my attention flits everywhere at once, scanning the sides of the city, the canyon walls, the gorge’s depths. Looking for movement, for a shift in color, for anything. We climb, sidestep, climb, stopping occasionally at small, flat viewing stations carved out of rock. We pass by windows; Unach gives me little time to peer in, though the enormous drop below me mutes my curiosity.

My hand slips once, and I nearly let go. When I grasp the handhold again, I stay there for a long time, hugging the city like a long-lost lover.

“If you slip, you’ll fall, but Troff will pull you back in.” She gives me a narrow look before moving on. But in her eyes, I can almost read,Though it would be better if he didn’t.

Chapter 3

Fortunately, Unach and I found no monsters during the long four hours of our watch. Two were spent hugging the outside of the city, two in the dock, myself with a spyglass, Unach manning the ropes for Troff, as I don’t have the strength necessary to haul him up should his grip fail. He still regards me oddly when he gets back, like he’s waiting for Unach to give up the joke any moment now. I don’t blame him. I hardly look able to fight a beast of the depths. I do nothing to defend myself against the unspoken inquiries.

Unach opens the closet and gestures at me to return my weapons. “Never take them from the dock,” she says coolly. “Humans aren’t permitted to carry.”

I’m hanging up my last knife when three trolls come onto the dock, two women and a man, all laughing. I step closer to the closet to shield myself from notice.

“Unach!” The woman on the right punches her in the shoulder. “I thought you’d be here. We’re playing kow’tug in the rec and need another player.”

“I’ll play,” Troff volunteers.

The woman laughs. “We’d have better chances with a human.”

They all chuckle, even Unach. I stay tucked away.

Unach waves them off. “I’ll meet you there. Just cleaning up.” They exchange a few more words before leaving. She pulls off her harness and chucks it in the chest. Looks at Troff. “Kub’s late again.”

Troff shrugs. “Noon shift.”

She turns toward me, her gaze narrowing. “Go to the market. We passed the road for it on the way down. It’s below the trade works.”

I hesitate. “Where ... was the trade works?”

She frowns. “Outside the farm walls.” Groans. “How good is your memory? I don’t want to write this down.”

“It’s good—”

“Go to the market,” she barrels on. “It’s on the eighth level, down the way you came yesterday but through the west tunnel. Go to the food handlers and request rations for ... What’s your birth year?”

I blink. “945 ...”

“Lark 945.” She adjusts a leather bracer on her arm. A long strip is cut out of it for the bony nubs that protrude from her verdant skin. “While you’re down there, get mine and Azmar’s, too.”

I nod, wanting any excuse to appease Unach.

She responds, “Unach 935 and Azmar 937.”

It sounds like trolls use birth years instead of surnames. Which also means Unach is twenty-nine and Azmar is twenty-seven.

I light up. “You’re Iter.”

Unach hesitates. “What did you call me?” Her voice rings sharp as a saw blade.

“I-I.” I force myself not to shy back. “Your birth year. It aligns with the planet Iter, the spider.”

She gawks at me like I’m speaking another language.

Steadying myself, I say, “The planets in the cosmos, I mean. Among the stars. You and I are the same. Iter, the fifth planet. It ... It represents strength and cunning.”

Unach looks me up and down and snorts, as though finding the comparison laughable. I suppose it is. But there are different sorts of strength. A different strength for every person, if they know where to find it. The Cosmodians believe that the gods speak to us through the stars, and following the path of a birth planet helps us interpret their words. I don’t share this, though.

“Azmar is Ura,” I offer. The seventh planet, which can be seen only through a powerful spyglass.